The Clown's Son
by BoysInBleachAreBetter
Summary: Human version  Nemo is 16 and sick, trapped in what was once his home but his father, still recovering 15 years after the death of Nemo's mother. After an argument, Nemo takes his fate into his own hands and enters into a dangerous new world. GillXNemo


His father had had another bad day; that much was obvious in the way his shoulders sagged as he took his chair opposite his son; his head tilting back helplessly as he sighed. It was an awful sound, heavy with defeat. Like smoke it weaved through the apartment, laying its stench on the damp furniture and leaving it's black mark on the walls, once a promising white – now a dirty grey.

Nemo couldn't bare the sight of him and stood up, leaving the room. Our burned out apartment was freezing, the unforgiving winter wind howling through the smashed windows, like a wolf at our door. He walked over to the French doors that would have led to their balcony - had they still had one after the fire. Now there was just a gaping hole in the wall where he sometimes caught his father standing, still dressed from work, clutching onto the doorframe is if it were all he had.

"You're not going out are you?" came the call from the kitchen. Nemo turned his head towards the door but his father must have still been sitting down.

"No," Nemo replied automatically before, in a hushed whisper to himself, "after all Dad, the world beyond these walls is a dangerous place. It will tear you down and never let you go. You taught me that."

With a sigh far too similar to the one of his father, Nemo sauntered over to the bathroom, rubbing away the grime on the mirror with the cuff of his sweater. His reflection did him more justice than he probably deserved, his copper hair was cleaner than it should be, his golden eyes brighter than anyone else's, his lean build more than any child of this area could dream of. The only part of him that he felt he deserved was his right arm, currently wrapped in layer upon layer of filthy gauze. Blood had already seeping through the bandages and Nemo smiled. _Good. Soon I'll be sick enough to see a doctor._

Glancing at the clock tower, visible through one of the smashed windows, Nemo started back towards my father's bedroom. "Wake up!" he yelled, hovering on the threshold of the doorway, "time to go to work." Nemo's father groaned and rolled over. It was around eight at night - his father worked the night shift at the carnival down in the square. It was long hours and the pay wasn't brilliant, but it was something better for him to do than hang around the house all night.

Eventually he muttered something unintelligible and got up before stumbling in the general direction of the bathroom. Nemo sat down on the edge of his father's bed. A storm of dust erupted around him, making him cough horribly. He was sitting on my mother's side. What had used to be his mothers side. As Nemo sat there, he tried to imagine this house when she was alive. Was it brighter, cleaner, happier?

Gently he peeled back a section of his bandages. The skin beneath was raw and blistered. Wincing he wrapped the bandages back around his arm before standing as his father re-entered the room. His makeup and clothes were bright and cheerful, but his expression was anything but. He was the embodiment of lost hope, and what was Nemo? _I was the clown's son. _

"You're not going out."

It wasn't a question and Nemo picked at my sleeve angrily, "Father, my arm's looking pretty bad-"

"Nemo," he snapped. Nemo's eyes lifted to meet his, "you are **not** leaving this house-"

"This house?" he gasped, waving his good arm around the room, "what house? We can't keep living like this Marlin!" Marlin flinched, as he did every time his son used his name, "I know that since Mother died you thought you owed it to her to look after the house, but she's dead-"

"Have some respect!" His father's hand connected with his cheek and Nemo reared back, stumbling into the wall, "Nemo, it's a dangerous world out there."

"I know! You keep telling me." Nemo halted for a second, contemplating wether it was worth it. It was. "But I'm sick Marlin. I know I am." Marlin's expression faltered, "As it is, my life isn't even really worth living. I have no money, no friends, no education, and if we keep going the way we are, I may as well not have a father _or a mother_."

Nemo's father said nothing and he had the sinking feeling that this wasn't a good sign. His last words hung in the air between them. At this moment, Nemo felt he had never been further away from him.

"I'm disappointed."

Nemo was seething, "_You're_ disappointed? What about me?"

"Nemo I don't care anymore," he exhaled and turned towards the stairs, "I've spent my entire life trying to protect you. But just like your mother you want to go and take risks, and we can both see where that got her."

"How dare you!" he shouted.

"You're not leaving this house Nemo!"

"I'm not afraid like you!" he screamed, chasing after him as he made for the door. But Marlin was too fast, and before he knew it their front door separated us. Once again, Nemo was trapped. "I don't want to spend my life afraid Marlin!" he cried, pounding against the door as he heard the lock turn. "Marlin! Let me out!"

Nemo knew he was still there, and heard him sigh. "Goodbye Nemo."

"No!" But he was gone. Fuming, Nemo charged towards the awning to their 'balcony'. The gaping hole in the wall led to nothing but air, but all the same he stood on the edge. London was sprawled out in front of him, a world he'd never known. He watched his father down in the street below. He was waiting at the corner of the road. He waved. Nemo didn't respond. Dangerous ideas were blossoming in his mind as he looked down.

"We're only three-stories up," he mused to himself. Experimentally he stretched his infected arm. Pain coursed through his veins. Not enough pain to stop him though. With a smile he doubled back to grab his jacket.

The street was dark as Nemo landed lightly on the pavement. His arm was in a world of pain, but adrenaline kept it at bay. The air was crisp and dry. He could taste the freedom as he licked his lips.

With a last look at his 'home', he abandoned his old life and took off into the darkness. After half an hour of brooding, self pity and blind rage he found some sense. He was alone, with no money, no one to contact, and no idea where he was. Blowing air out between pursed lips he continued down the street he was on, but the further Nemo walked, the more he realised that he had come the wrong way.

In the back of my mind, he recalled a name. _The Drop-Off_. He'd overheard his neighbours talking about it – the industrial area just outside our beat, named for one reason: it was a known body dump for the gangs that made this city their home. This was dodgy. If you had any sense, you didn't come here alone, and right now Nemo's senses were kicking themselves.

"Hey!"

He spun. Nemo would have screamed had it not been for the crippling blow that was delivered to his stomach. He doubled over in pain as another blow connected with his side. His head hit the concrete and blood bubbled at his lips. The nerves in his arm were screeching, and everywhere his vision was blurred – so blurred in fact that he couldn't make out his assailant until he placed his face beside Nemo's.

"Oh shit," the figure swore, his voice rough, before turning suddenly urgent, "run, kid, run! They're coming. Go!"


End file.
